


December 1st

by HopeHazard



Series: A Different Meeting [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic, Drabble, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-06 23:47:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1877043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeHazard/pseuds/HopeHazard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Living with Sherlock is a nightmare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	December 1st

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, sorry it's been so long since I posted to this series. I originally had this written down, then I lost it and was too frustrated/lazy to rewrite it. But I just found it again today and typed it up! So, here you go. Hope you enjoy, even though it's just a short drabble.
> 
> Edit: Wow, so right after I posted this the first time, I realized that the way I'd written it would've messed up the next one, so I had to rewrite it.

“Hey, Sherlock?” John wandered into the kitchen, towel wrapped around his waist. The detective in question sat at the table, bent over his microscope looking at God only knows what—John had long since learned not to ask—and made a vague noise of acknowledgement. “Where are my clothes? Everything in my closet and drawers are missing."  
  
“I threw them out.” Sherlock’s casual tone threw John off, making him pause a few moments to really process the statement.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"I. Threw. Them. Out. Did you not hear me the first time?"  He waited for Sherlock to say ‘just kidding’, or something, but it never came.  
  
“So… what am I supposed to wear? Nothing?”  
  
“That’s the idea.”  
  
John caught the smirk Sherlock gave him and rolled his eyes. Walking up to Sherlock's side, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Very funny. You can’t just throw out my clothes.”  
  
“Obviously I _can_ , seeing as how I did.”  
  
“As much as I know you’d love me to go about naked, Mrs. Hudson would have a heart attack if she walked in on that. And not only do I have to go to work, but you can’t bring clients around if I’m not wearing clothes.”  
  
“You don’t _have_ to work,” Sherlock pointed out, turning sideways in his chair. He placed his hands on John’s hips and pulled him closer. “I have more than enough for rent and food. Mrs. Hudson was the one that insisted I get a flatmate before I moved in--so I wouldn't be 'lonely', not out of necessity. Nor would clients have to stop coming around. You could wear a robe.”  
  
“I like my job,” John said, smiling a little and running his fingers through Sherlock’s hair, earning a pleased hum from him. “So, if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you’d tell me where my bloody clothes are.”  
  
Sherlock pouted until John bent and kissed the protruding lip, then relented. “In my room."  
  
“Thank you.” John kissed Sherlock’s forehead once, then went into his bedroom. When he came out—dressed—he definitely didn’t miss the way Sherlock looked slightly disappointed.


End file.
